You're Not A Dog
by Annelijn
Summary: 'I am taking you to Winterfell,' he said in a low voice, 'whether you like it or not.' Sansa isn't the Little Bird she used to be, thanks to Sandor. When he frees her from her cage, they realise they are more alike then they thought. But how can a dog and a bird be alike?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay, this is my first story, so review, but please be gentle;) And since I don't like how airheaded Sansa can be sometimes, I had her toughened up a bit. You will probably notice that later on. Rating is for later on also. Enjoy!**

* * *

Sansa sat on the edge of her bed, looking at the green shimmer of the flames that darted outside in the bay. She was too afraid to look out of the window, but somehow the soft green light that danced over the walls of her cage soothed her. She no longer cared who won this battle. It wasn't _her_ battle. If Joffrey won, nothing would change. If not, Stannis might even be worse. There was only one thing she still cared about. Not her own life, she simply didn't care anymore, but the life of Sandor Clegane.

She didn't know why, but he had always helped her if he could. The thought of him made her get up. She retrieved the cloak she had hidden under her bed. _His_ cloak. The one he had covered her with after the so called knights had ripped open her dress in court.

She had saved it, because somehow the earthy smell that clung to it made her feel like she was home again. Now, while the war outside the walls was raging, she wished more than ever that she had never left Winterfell. She wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and sat down on the cold stone floor, praying for the life of the Hound.

* * *

He didn't know how long he stood in front of her door, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to go inside. She would say no, he was certain of it. Why would she come with _him_? He was just a dog. He hated himself. He had seen so many times how she had looked away from him in fear, even though he had tried to help her. He couldn't even blame her. But still he couldn't stop thinking about her. She was beautiful, and kind, and she did not deserve the way Joffrey treated her.

He took a deep breath to steady himself, and pushed open the heavy wooden door.

At first he thought the room was empty, but then he saw her sitting on the floor. She was curled up on the floor with a cloak around her. His heart stopped for a split second when he recognised it as his own. He remembered the day he gave it to her, and his blood froze in his veins. He was disgusted by himself again. All he had done was thrown her his cloak, but the imp had saved her. That should have been him. He was the one that should have stood up for her. But as always, he had been a cowardly dog, and she had hurt.

He was still lost in thought when she looked up at him, and smiled softly.

* * *

She had died. And Sandor too, probably, why else would he be here? The thought made her sad. She wanted him to live. But it didn't matter. They were dead, and he had come for her. She smiled at him and stood up, his cloak still on her shoulders. He was still wearing his armour, smeared with the blood of others. She grabbed his big hand in hers and led him to the bed. She made him sit down, and he obeyed, looking at her in wonder. He was so tall that she still had to look up to him.

Dead was soft and gentle, she thought. She couldn't even remember _how_ she had died, there was no pain. And death wasn't really so different from life. He smelt of sweat, smoke and wine. Long ago, that would've bothered her. But now it only intrigued her. Why, she couldn't say, but she carefully pushed his legs open with her knees, so she could stand in between them, as close to him as possible. She placed her hands on his steel chest and looked up at him. His eyes were a smouldering grey. Her face was just inches away from his, and in the green light, his scars were barely visible.

'Did you die in battle?,' she whispered, 'or don't you remember? Because I don't.'

His eyes went hard.

'You're not dead Little Bird,' he growled. She could smell the wine on his breath, and saw his brow knit together in anger. She had seen that expression so many times before.

'You're not dead, and you won't die for a long time if I can help it.'

He pushed her away roughly, and she stumbled backwards into the wall. He stood and began to trash her cage. He threw open her closet and yanked random clothes out of it, throwing them on the bed.

_Wait, what? I'm not dead? Then what is he doing here?_

She wanted to ask him, but her throat was suddenly tight with fear, and she only whimpered like she had been struck. He turned around at the sound, and looked at her with something in his eyes that was neither anger nor compassion. She felt like he was looking into her core, and she drew the cloak tighter, like it could protect her.

'I am taking you to Winterfell,' he said in a low voice, 'whether you like it or not. You're not safe here. Do you have a bag?'

_Winterfell!_

She would go home, at last. Joy lifted her hart, but she made sure not to show too much of it. She only smiled sweetly at him, and took her bag out of one of her drawers. She moved quickly, grabbing two dresses and a nightgown of her bed, and stuffed them into the bad, together with a brush and some soap. Sandor stood awkwardly, impatiently as she pulled on her walking boots that she had worn on the Kings Road.

When she was done, she pulled the cloak from her shoulders and gave it back to him. He took it, and hoisted her over his shoulder.


	2. Chapter 2

They rode through the night, on Strangers back, leaving the cursed green fire of the battlefield behind them quickly. It had been almost too easy to slip out of the Red Keep. One of the lesser known exits had only been guarded by one soldier. He was suspicious, and wouldn't let them through, but Sandor had cut his throat with a single slash of his dagger and they were free.

They had been riding for hours on end, and the soft pink of the upcoming sunrise was already dotting the horizon. Sansa hadn't complained once, not even when he had killed the soldier, which surprised him. He looked at her now, sitting in the saddle in front of him. He had his hand on her waist to steady her, but it was still difficult for her not to fall off. He would've pulled her close to him, but he was sure she wouldn't like that. She had gotten so close back in her cage, the tip of her nose almost touching his. He had seen the elegant curve of her dark lips, and the freckles that dusted her cheekbones. But she had thought she was dead. He had started to growl at her, he couldn't stand the idea of her being hurt, let alone be killed. He swore to himself he would never let that happen.

She would die happy, peacefully, of old age. He would make sure of that.

Well, he could make sure she would grow old. Not that she would be happy. She would have to find another man for that. Not that he didn't want her, but he didn't deserve her.

She shifted in the saddle again, and Sandor slowed down. It grew lighter still, they would have to find a place to get some rest. They could not ride by daylight, it was too much of a risk. As soon as Stranger had slowed to a trot, Sansa relaxed some. She leaned back, and her back almost touched his chest. His armour still covered his chest, but somehow her closeness intoxicated him. He saw her red flowing hair dance with Strangers movements, and felt the urge to stroke it, feel the softness of it under his rough fingers.

Sandor hadn't been watching where they were going, and suddenly they were moving up a slight hill. Sansa slid back in the saddle, now really touching him, completely at ease. He could feel her soft round arse pressing into his groin, and his body immediately responded. He was getting hard, so he did the one thing he could think off. He pushed her forward in the saddle roughly, and dismounted. Sansa looked down at him in confusion, but she gave a tiny little smile that made him think she knew. _Stupid bird._

'It's getting lighter Little Bird,' he growled, 'and we need a place to rest.'

'I see,' she sighed, pouting her already plump lips. 'So you wanted to stay in that cave over there?' She pointed over his head, and he turned to look what she was talking about. There was indeed a small opening in the hill about twenty feet to their left. He didn't see it before, because big rocks hid the entrance. You would only be able to see it if you stopped exactly where they had. It was the perfect hideout. He felt outdone by her, because he hadn't seen it, but she had. He was supposed to be protecting _her_, goddammit, not the other way around.

'Yes, of course, girl! Or would you rather just lie down here?'

He almost shouted at her, and she lifted her eyebrows at him. She didn't turn red and embarrassed like she used to. Something about her had changed.

She just got off Strangers back, smoother than he expected her to, and walked away swiftly towards the cave entrance.

Maybe it was because she was no longer a prisoner. Maybe she finally had learned that her pretty little words weren't going to work on him. Or maybe Joffrey and his knights had finally broken her.

He watched her as she walked, hips swaying in her dark green dress. She threw her long hair over her shoulder, and she looked like a goddess as it shimmered in the upcoming light. His groin aced for her, his cock straining his breeches.

_Bad dog_, he thought. _Bad, bad dog! She is not yours, and she never will be, so back off._

* * *

As she walked away over the rocky surface of the hill, she took extra care to sway her hips slightly more than was necessary, smiling to herself as she went. Of course, she had seen him looking at her in Kings Landing, and while riding she had thought about why he had come to save her. But she never would've thought he actually had _feelings_ for her. Why would he? She was just a stupid Little Bird, now wasn't she?

No, not anymore, but he didn't know that. Yet.

So when she had felt his hardness press into her, she was surprised at first, but also very surprised at how it made her feel.

She felt like a woman.

She wasn't scared anymore, she was ready. She just hadn't wanted Joffrey. Not that she wanted the Hound either, but he was more attractive than the pathetic little boy that called himself King. Yes, he had his scars, but he was a man, brave and honest. Somehow she had gone from wanting a fairytale knight to wanting a man, no matter how rough, just as long as he was true.

He did not have feelings for her, except maybe pity, but his body had needs. And so did hers.

As Sandor was fussing over the cave she had spotted before him, a thought had formed. Maybe she would push him, just to see how far he would let himself go. He wouldn't hurt her, she was sure of that, so she could stop it every time she wanted.

And maybe he would let her feel like a woman instead of a child.

She threw her hair casually over her shoulder, and as she reached the cave, she sat on one of the large rocks that lay there. She leaned back on her hands, so that her chest was slightly pushed forward. She felt a spark of victory as she saw his eyes grow large.

'Are you coming?' she called out at him.

He shook his head as if to clear it and started to walk, pulling on Strangers reins, looking anywhere but at her.

She looked him over approvingly. He was only wearing armour on his upper body. His chest, shoulders and arms were completely covered. His lower body however, was just leather and boots. As she noted that, she also saw that his breeches were strained at his groin.

She couldn't help but smile at that. Her game might be cruel, but it was working already. It made her feel alive.

* * *

Luckily there were a couple of trees close to the cave, where he could hide Stranger. The horse had drunk along the way, but they hadn't. There wasn't any water here, so they would have to move on tomorrow. Stranger began eating the grass as Sandor stroked his shoulder. He was procrastinating, and he knew it. But it didn't help. The bulge in his pants stayed, so uncomfortably tight that it almost hurt.

_Fucking Little Bird whipping her hair around._

Suddenly her voice was behind him.

'Are you exited?'

She smiled at him. He could only stare back. So she _had_ seen his pants. He walked past her quickly, only grunting at her in response. He had no idea what to tell her, but he regretted his roughness immediately. Why couldn't he just be gentle to her?

He was just too embarrassed. She probably thought he was just like every other dog, just following his cock. He wanted to tell her that he wasn't like that, that he would be gentle and caring. He had fucked many whores, but she was different. Pure.

Telling her that would only frighten her, of course. And he would never get to make love to her, like she would want that. He would do anything for her.

'By the cave, I mean?' she called out, 'It is such good luck we found shelter.'

He whirled around at her. She was still smiling sweetly, walking towards him slowly.

Was she seriously only talking casualties? Her smile was soft and innocent, but those night blue eyes were wicked.

She came even closer, almost touching him now, looking up to meet his eyes. Somewhere, in the back of his head he noted that she wasn't avoiding his scars anymore.

He smelled roses and honey, and she placed her hands on his chest like she had done in the cage.

'Thank you, Sandor. For everything. For saving me not only this time, but all those times before. You were the only thing that kept me sane in Kings Landing.'

She didn't break eyecontact as she spoke, and in her eyes Sandor could see she spoke the truth. It warmed his chest in ways he couldn't explain. His crotch betrayed him, however.

She had been trailing her hands down his chest as she spoke, and suddenly her hands were at his hips, stroking the leather there. It was too close and his breeches once again stood painfully tight against his manhood.

He wanted to tell her that there was nothing to thank him for, that he did it gladly and that he would do it all over again if she asked him to.

'Save your pretty words for someone who believes them, Little Bird,' he heard himself say.

He turned around abruptly, and walked into the cave. Where she couldn't see him, he slammed a fist into the hard rock wall. He was such an idiot. He couldn't even say what he wanted to. But maybe it was better this way. Maybe, if he kept rejecting her sweet song long enough, it would become easy to do so. She would find a husband to protect her, and he would be free of her spell again.

As soon as he thought it, he knew he was just lying to himself. He would never leave her willingly. He would watch over her, make sure her husband was good to her, and he would only ever leave if she told him to.

* * *

When Sandor was finished, it had gotten completely light. He had swiped the cave floor clean with some branches, and had collected dead leafs and long grasses. Over this pile he had draped his cloak, so that she could sleep in comfort.

It was sweet, and she hadn't expected him to be so gentle. He was rough and grumpy, like he had been when she had roamed her hands over his hips.

She had been surprised how muscled he was. Sure, she knew he was muscled, that was impossible to miss, but his _hips_?

It had almost hurt her feelings when he had been rude to her, but she knew she was winning this game.

Now, he guided her into the cave, where it was almost completely dark despite the sunlight outside. It was obvious that the cave was small and not very deep. When she saw the makeshift bed, she realised just how tired she was. From the entire night of riding, but also from being constantly on her guard in Kings Landig, never truly being able to relax.

She lay down, and found that the bed was bigger and softer than it seemed. She looked up at Sandor, who was a big shadow with the only source of light at his back. She couldn't see his face. He was just standing there, swaying his big arms for a moment, before he grunted and sat down at the exit, his back to her. Sansa noticed that he had his sword in his lap. He was still protecting her.

But he had to be tired too.

'Sandor…'

'Go to sleep Little Bird,' he grunted without looking back at her, 'we are riding out again as soon as it gets dark.'

'Are you not tired?'

There was a short silence, a hesitation. She decided to use that.

'You can't stay wake forever, Sandor,' she whispered.

While he was silent at the front of the little cave, she idly wondered when she had started calling him by his first name. It felt natural after all the fake courtesies.

He looked over his shoulder suddenly.

'If I leave, I cannot protect you. So I'm staying here, like it or not. Don't worry, I wont come any closer, so nightmares are not necessary.'

His voice was low, and even though Sansa still couldn't see his face, she could hear the hurt. That was not what she meant.

She reached out towards him, pushing herself up on her elbow, and placed her hand on his back.

'No,' she whispered, 'I meant, this bed is way too big for me.'

It was a heartbeat before he understood. Then he got up and lay down beside her, back towards her, face to the entrance and sword at his side.

Sansa was too tired to talk, even though she wanted him closer, holding her. She couldn't put up the effort, and simply shifted closer to him, creeping her arm around his waist.

He froze for a moment, and then simply sighed.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey guys, thank you all so much for your support! I'm so happy you all enjoy my story:D Anyway, sorry that I'm so late with updating. Despite it being summer vacation, I've just been verrrrrrry busy. I promise the next update will be faster! **

* * *

As darkness was falling over the forest, Sandor woke slowly. At first, he couldn't remember where he was, or who was in his arms. His first thought was that he had fallen asleep after fucking a whore, and cursed himself because extra time with her meant extra money, no matter what you did. He considered fucking the whore again, because he was already half hard anyway.

While trying to remember whether or not she was worth it, he felt her shift in her sleep. She was lying with her back to his chest, one arm on top of the one that he had cradled around her waist. Her arse pushed slightly into his groin and he grunted softly at the heavenly torture. He couldn't see her in the dark, and he couldn't remember fucking her. At first he thought maybe he had drunk too much, but then he smelled roses and honey.

He pushed her away violently, making her roll off the makeshift bed onto the stone floor, and jumped up himself, crashing his head into the ceiling.

He roared at the pain of both his head and his heart, knowing he just considered fucking the girl that was in his arms, and never would. She would never let him.

She cried out as she woke by hitting the cold stone. For a moment she looked around disoriented, but then she saw him standing over her, rubbing his head.

'What happened?' she asked irritated.

He couldn't possibly tell her that he just thought she was a whore and then considered fucking her. First of all, she would be horrified, and secondly, that only brought back his fantasies of her underneath him, moaning his name in pleasure.

Instead, he blurted out the first thing he could think of.

'We're late, girl! We were supposed to leave as soon as it got dark! Get up, right fucking NOW!'

He roared at her as he tore his cloak off the bed and scattering dead leaves everywhere.

He felt guilty as he saw her face twisted in anger, but it only lasted a second, because she had started screaming as well.

'So you just decided to push me out of bed?' she shrieked, standing up and brushing the dirt off her dress, 'There really wasn't any other way to wake me?'

She stormed out off the cave, pushing roughly past him. She was stronger than he had thought. He quickly grabbed his sword, scattered the leaves further so they wouldn't leave a trace, and then followed her outside.

Night had already completely fallen, and at first he didn't see Sansa anywhere. Then he heard her behind the trees where Stranger was hidden. He walked over, and saw her untying the ropes that prevented the horse from wandering off.

She smoothly mounted the horse that was about twice her size, and then spotted him.

'You're not even going to apologize are you?' she spat at him.

'What for Little Bird? For not being able to treat you as gently as those knights of you always did?'

He climbed up Stranger behind him. As he pulled on the reins and led Stranger further up the hill, he could just _feel_ the heat of her anger radiating from her. She sat with her back straight, not touching him at all.

Not that he minded, though. He was still half hard, and it would take him a while to recover. She had felt so warm and fantastic in his arms, but he knew that he would have to avoid sleeping next to her next time. No matter how much she pleaded.

She didn't say a single word the entire night. Her back never relaxed, and Sandor started to worry more and more that he had maybe hurt her feelings too much this time; his last comment about knights had crossed a line, he could tell.

But he tried to tell himself that it was only a good thing. Better to hurt her feelings now than later on. She would have to learn that he was no _ser_. That he was a dog, and a badly trained one at that.

* * *

She had thought that he would never hurt her, but now he had. His words had been cruel, and he knew it. Sansa kept her back straight all night, even when her muscles started prostesting, and refused to say a word.

She didn't respond to his attempts at staring a conversation, and didn't even flinch when he told her they wouldn't be visiting any inns for a while.

How could he? _Gentle knights?_

As though he couldn't see the fading bruise on her right cheek. It was a few days old, but it still hurt. He had seen with his own eyes how hard _Ser_ Boros had hit her. And all the others.

His words stung, but she still refused his apologises. They weren't even real apologises, because he was too rough natured to ever let those words spill form his lips.

He tried however, by offering her water when they stopped at a stream to refill their supplies and to let Stranger rest. He tried by asking her whether she was comfortable enough, and offering her his cloak to sit on. He tried, but she kept her eyes focused on anything but him, and never said a word. She did accept he water though, even though it was only because she was incredibly thirsty, and she could see his eyes light up.

After a while she started feeling guilty. He had only said those cruel words because he was trying to defend himself from her game. A game that she shouldn't be playing in the first place, because he was risking his life to protect her.

What had become of her? She knew she no longer wanted to be a lady. She wanted to be brave like Arya, but somehow she had become cruel.

Still, she didn't want to stop it. She couldn't. It was the only thing that kept her going. Her family probably thought she was dead, and back in the Red Keep all she had done was pray for Sandors life.

His life was saved. And he had even saved hers. But what about her soul? Without the game she was an empty body, no soul within.

And so she would continue. But not before she had ended their fight.

* * *

He had almost given up on trying to talk to her, but then she had taken the water. Maybe it was only because she was thirsty, she drank a lot, but it was a small victory for him nevertheless.

He tried to think of an easy way to tell her that it was too dangerous to stay at inns, and that they had to sleep in the woods. She wouldn't like it, she was a highborn lady and she would want a nice hot bath and a soft featherbed at the end of the day.

But right now, all he could do was keep her safe, they could afford any luxuries just yet.

Sandor desperately hoped he could explain, but in the end he was rough and grumpy once more.

'Can't stay at inns Little Bird. Too dangerous, too many eyes watching.'

She didn't move, and he couldn't see her face. Silence followed, and Sandor just wanted to smack himself in the head.

There was something wrong with his brain, for sure. How was it possible that he wanted to be gentle to her so bad, and that only growls came out of his mouth?

_O yeah, that's right, dogs can't sing._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you for all your reviews, they really want to make me write more! This one was a bit later than I would've liked, but I got a new laptop, and Microsoft Office was being weird.. **

**I hope you like it, and please review, review, review! Also ideas to what you want to happen next? I need inspiration:) Oh, and for Sandors appearance, I actually looked that up in Game Of Thrones, nerd that I am. Teehee.**

* * *

When the sky coloured red at the edges, they stopped at a small pond. They would have to sleep out in the open, but they were far enough from any roads.

Sansa refused Sandors hand to help her get off Stranger, but regretted it immediately when she jumped and felt a sharp pain shoot through her right foot. She didn't make a sound, however, and that was good. She wouldn't let him see her as a helpless child. She walked away swiftly, ignoring the stabbing in her foot.

She had drank too much, and now she had to make water. But when she reached the trees that would shield her from Sandors view, his voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

'Where do you think you're going?'

His voice was rough, and harsh, but underneath she could hear his concern. He was sweet, really. Even though she hadn't said a word all night, he was still protecting her.

_Remember the game, Little Bird_, she told herself.

She turned around, placing one hand seductively on her hip.

'I was just going to relieve myself, if you don't mind. As you may have noticed, I was rather thirsty last night.'

He just stood there, reins in hand, mouth slightly open. Like that, he didn't seem big and scary at all. Actually, he just looked like some sort of big ugly teddy bear.

After a few seconds, Sansa arched her eyebrow.

He cleared his throat and awkwardly scratched his scars.

'Uhm, yeah, of course. Just don't go too far Little Bird.'

He turned and led Stranger away.

Sansa walked a short while before squatting down.

Walking back, she wondered how she was going to make up with Sandor without ruining the game. By the time she got back, she had a plan.

* * *

He had tied Stranger up, brushed him off and brought him some apples from a nearby tree. He had also spread out the bedrolls, far apart, taken off his armour, and assembled dinner. They were running out of dried meat, but apples and some berries should keep their bellies full enough. He would hunt later.

Right now, he wanted to be as nice as possible to Sansa, he still felt so guilty about his comment earlier. When she got back, he gave her one of the spare linens he had brought.

'I'm going to find some wood for a fire. I'll stay close, but you can- uhh, I mean, if you wanted to- uh, you can, you know, freshen up.'

He gestured vaguely towards to pond.

_Blabbering fool._

However, she took the linen and smiled softly at him.

Maybe she wasn't that mad at him anymore. She was never one to be unkind. Which made him feel even worse about himself.

He stalked through the trees, collecting small branches. He collected too much, but still he was finished quite fast. He sat down within hearing distance of the pond. He could hear the soft splashes of the water, and tried not to think of Sansas naked body, of her wet hair flowing like fire down her back.

When the sounds stopped, he waited a little longer before returning.

She stood barefoot next to the bedrolls, brush in hand, her wet hair framing her beautiful face, that was now flushed by the cold water.

He quickly started the fire so she could warm up. She had also washed her green dress, which was now sprawled out on a nearby rock. Instead, she wore a plain black dress. It made her skin even paler, but she looked beautiful.

When she caught him looking at her, he quickly averted his eyes. He didn't want her to think he was staring at her. She was supposed to feel safe with him, not disgusted.

If only he could find the words to apologize properly. At times like this, he wished he could chirp like her. She would know what to say.

'Sandor? I'm sorry.'

_Wait, what?_

'I was being unreasonable. You were right. You have saved me, and I should be grateful, instead of rude and inconsiderate just because you said something I didn't want to hear.'

Was she actually apologising to him? Why? She had done nothing wrong!

He looked at her in wonder, and she moved closer to him, her eyes level to his as he was still squatting by the fire.

'I didn't want to hear the truth. But that's why you're better than all those knights. You tell the truth, no matter how hard it might be. And I'm sorry.'

She looked at her feet, but glanced up at him uncertainly when he didn't respond.

Had she really no idea how irresistible she was?

'Aye, Little Bird,' he grunted, looking to the ground as well, 'you know I will never hide the truth from you.'

_Do you have brain damage?_

Why couldn't he just apologise as well, just say after her; I. Am. Sorry.

He hated himself, for being rude, for being awkward, for not being the man she wanted, the man she deserved. After he brought her home, he should just forget about her. He would never be good enough.

* * *

No, he would never hide the truth. He was too good for that. He was truly an honourable man. Her heart stung a little when his comment reminded her of the fact that she was playing him, but she ignored it. She reached up to his face, and cradled her hand to his unscarred cheek. The skin there felt soft despite the stubble that had grown these last few days.

He raised his eyes to hers, and she saw his astonishment. She idly wondered whether anyone had ever touched him like this. She knew he had had whores, but certainly they would just pleasure him and leave. They wouldn't have dared to touch the Hound like he was a person, with a heart.

She stepped closer and hugged him. Her arms didn't fit around his broad back, but it didn't matter. She felt him tense. His muscles were heavy under her fingers. He didn't hug her back.

He smelt like earth, sweat and horses. She didn't mind, in fact, she liked it. Like his cloak had back in the Red Keep, it reminded her of home.

She kept hugging him, even though he didn't relax at all.

Eventually, he pushed her away. Gently, this time, his big hands warm on her sides.

His eyes avoided hers, and she thought she saw a tear glistening on his cheek before he stood and turned, but she wasn't sure.

* * *

They ate in silence by the fire, and then went to bed. It was very light though, and Sansa couldn't sleep at all. She knew Sandor was still awake too, because he kept shifting at every sound from the woods. His sword was beside him, and after an hour or so, he sighed, got up, and went to sharpen it.

He picked up her dress from the rock, and hung it over a branch. She was surprised to see how carefully he handled the delicate fabric. She hadn't known those huge, rough hands could be so precise.

He sat down on the rock, took off his shirt, and Sansa watched him as he worked.

His muscles rippled beneath his skin. He was covered in scars from battle. One big jagged line traced his left shoulder. Any other man would have probably lost the arm, but not Sandor. She traced her eyes over every tiny imperfection in his skin, but yet somehow, they didn't make him imperfect. They suited him.

All except the scars on his face. Those scars stained his life, she ought to know that better than anyone. He had told her the story of his brother that one night, so long ago.

She felt sad for him. He deserved a better life, one without everyone being afraid just by looking at him.

She wondered whether he would´ve been handsome. She closed one eye, and held up a thumb to cover her view of the left side of his face.

His nose was rather large, and he had sharp cheekbones. But it was his eye that caught her attention. A deep, warm grey, like molten iron, showing his complete concentration.

Yes, he would've been handsome. Still frightening, perhaps, but that was just his size.

She got up and walked to stand beside him. He glanced up at her, but continued sharpening his sword.

When she was close enough, she traced her fingers lightly over the scar on his shoulder. He stopped moving, and his head snapped up, but she kept her eyes on the scar.

It moved something in her. The rough, slightly pink skin under her fingers somehow grasped her heart, and a tear ran down her cheek.

She didn't even know what she wanted to say to him anymore, she just stood there and cried. There was no way she could ever understand the hurt he had gone through. It had made him rough, but not cold. He would never be.

The moment she thought it, he dropped his sword, and reached out for her.

She gasped as his arms encircled her waist, and he held her close, rubbing his hand softly up and down her spine.

She cried, and in that moment she knew that she would never be able to continue her game again. She would have to find a different way to feel alive.

'Shh, Little Bird, it's gonna be okay.'

Sandor always spoke the truth, didn't he?


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: AAAAH, sorry sorry sorry it took so long people, but I had some thingies that prevented me from writing. Summer vacation, starting university, and lack of inspiration, etc. When I finally got a private message from Midnightdawn67, I realised how much you have been reading this. I never really checked the stats, but it's so much more than I thought! Thank you so much guys, I'm so happy you enjoy my stories :D**

**Note; I don't own anything, credit goes to the genius Mr Martin. And keep in mind that English isn't my native language and that my spelling and or grammar therefore isn't perfect.**

* * *

They had been riding for almost two weeks now, but it was hard to keep track, because the days were pretty much the same. Somehow, they had fallen in some sort of routine.

When they woke up, Sandor took care of breakfast, sometimes with a small fire, and Sansa would pack up their bedrolls and hide any evidence of their presence.

They didn't talk much when on the road, but Sansa liked pointing out the pretty things to Sandor. When they would ride up a hill she would ask him to turn on top, so that they could see the view, and once she asked to stop so she could collect a beautiful blue grey feather.

Sandor would grunt, but he always complied.

He just couldn't say no to her, and the way her face lit up made him forget everything.

When they found a good place to stay, Sansa would spread out the bedrolls again, and Sandor took care of Stranger. After that, they both did their share for dinner. Sansa collected berries, fruits, herbs, and nuts, if possible, and Sandor would hunt for small game. Anything they couldn't finish, was saved for either breakfast or lunch the next day.

Right now, they were eating rabbit. Sansa had stuffed it with hazelnuts and thyme. Or rather, she had found the nuts and thyme, and Sandor had stuffed the rabbit with it.

Somehow, Sansa always found a way to eat without getting dirty, Sansor noticed. Her hands were never as covered with grease as his, and she never got any food on her face or dress.

He was looking at her, the way she handled the piece of meat. She didn't really bite into it, she was just nibbling at it, and whenever a drop of grease would slide down her fingertips, she immediately licked it away ever so ladylike. How could licking your fingers be ladylike?

Sandor realised just a second too late that he had been staring, and her beautiful eyes met his, question unspoken.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, and focused on his own food again. She giggled, almost too softly for him to hear.

The sound stirred something in his groin, and he shifted uncomfortably. He had tried not to pay any attention to his feelings, but it was difficult. Did she know how irresistible she was?

But he shouldn't feel this way. It was wrong, on so many levels.

She was young, and beautiful. He was old, and very, _very _ugly.

She was a proper, highborn lady. Princess in fact, as her brother was the self-proclaimed King in the North. He was just some craven.

He wasn't even a knight. He could have been, of course, but he had refused so many times that they hadn't even bothered asking anymore. Add to that the fact that he had run away when the boy King needed him most.

Never would he be good enough for her.

_Seven hells, if only my cock would understand._

* * *

Sansa had definitely given up her game. It had taken her a while to find something else. What could possibly make her feel like a woman more than knowing that Sandor wanted her?

But in the end, she just couldn't hurt him like that, she couldn't tease him just to make her feel better about herself. He had been through so much already.

So, in the end, she had taken it upon herself to make him smile.

She had never seen him smile. Not really. She had seen his eyes light up when she had accepted the water during their fight, but it wasn't enough, he had to _really_ smile.

The problem was, she had no idea how to make it happen.

She tried lots of things. Pointing out views, picking up beautiful feathers. But then she remembered he never cared much for that stuff. She tried to make him listen to the songs of different birds, and she even tried asking him about his battle scars and the stories behind them. Maybe telling her about his bravery would lift his spirits. But he only grunted that it was nothing. Only Sandor could call a scar that was longer than her forearm _nothing_.

But then she noticed him staring at her. When she was brushing her hair, or when she was picking apples. At seemingly random moments, she would look up form whatever she was doing to find him looking at her, sometimes eyebrows knit together, sometimes his face completely relaxed. When she returned his gaze, he would always clear his throat, grunt, and look away awkwardly.

But this time was different.

They were eating, and she noticed he was staring again. He hadn't touched his food for a while now, but she pretended not to notice. When she could no longer ignore him, she looked up at him questioningly. Like she had expected, he cleared his throat and continued eating. His predictability made her giggle as she continued eating. In the corner of her eye, she saw him shifting uncomfortably.

That was new.

Casually, she reached for the water flask, and looked at him sideways. He was focused on his food, but his expression was pained.

_Did I do something wrong?_

She drank, and looked again as she placed the flask back on the ground. Now she saw.

His breeches were tight.

Confusion filled her mind.

_But, I didn't do anything! I stopped the game!_

Had she showed cleavage? No, her dress was properly fastened. Her legs were covered, she didn't flip her hair, and sitting down, she couldn't have _possibly_ swayed her hips.

What did she do ?

Was it possible that maybe, just maybe, she didn't have to do anything? That Sandor would be turned on by her, without her trying? She had never actually thought of going any further than flirting with him. Would he even want that, or was it purely his body wanting her, not his mind? This would surely make him smile, but could she, _would_ she do it?

What was she even thinking?

* * *

After dinner, Sansa was behaving odd. It was getting dark, they had slowly reversed their schedule of riding at night and sleeping at day back to normal.

As they lay down on their bedrolls, he noticed Sansa staring off into the darkness with a worried expression on her face.

'Is there something wrong, Little Bird?'

He was getting better at being civil, but his voice was still rough and deep, probably still slightly frightening to her.

She looked at him in surprise, and then her expression became worried.

'What?'

She bit her lip hesitantly and his body started tingling immediately.

_Stop that, Little Bird, you're being too damn seductive._

'Uhm, I don't know… But I thought I… I eh, I thought I saw something move in the bushes. Probably just an animal, but could you eh… could you maybe come a little… closer?'

What in the seven hells had made her so shy all of the sudden? It didn't really look like she was scared or anything.

He wanted to come a little closer so badly it hurt. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and hold her though the night. He wanted to smell her hair and kiss the top of her head.

Because he wanted all of this and more, so he probably shouldn't. But she was looking at him pleadingly, with those night blue eyes.

He would do anything for her.

* * *

As Sandor stood up and moved his bedroll next to her, she tried to remember what the hell she was doing. She didn't want him in that way, but she did care for him. She wanted to make him smile, and to feel like a woman, and maybe this would be the perfect solution for both. But when she thought about how his hands would feel on her breasts, his cock inside of her, it made her nervous. What was she doing?

He lay down beside her, facing away, and she just stared at his back.

She didn't know what she wanted anymore. She cared more about Sandor than she dared to admit.

Slowly, she shifted closer. She laid a hand on his side, a little lower than she really dared. He turned his head to look at her.

'I'm cold,' she heard herself whisper.

A heartbeat, a moment of silence, his molten grey eyes looking into her core.

Then, he turned around and pulled her to his chest.

She could stop anytime she wanted, right?


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Yayy, pretty long chapter! Tell me what you liked (or didn't like), and ideas how to continue are welcome! I'm not sure how this story is going to unwind, so suggest, critise, and review, review review please!**

* * *

On the seventeenth day, Sandor had surprise for Sansa. He waited to tell her until late afternoon, still on horseback. He knew that she would be happy, but somehow, he didn't want to see the delight on her face. It would be too painful.

'Sansa,' he said softly.

'Hmm?' She had been daydreaming again, he could tell.

'I thought we could stay at an inn tonight. You'll have a real bed, it'll do you good.'

She gasped before he could finish what he was saying. She couldn't turn around to face him, but she tried anyway. She craned her neck to look back and up at him.

'Really?' she nearly shouted.

She just nodded, trying to smile. 'We might stay two nights.'

She cried out in wordless excitement, and writhed around on the saddle. He sensed that she wanted to hug him, but he didn't want her too.

It would be too much. Hearing the joy in her voice already gripped his heart. He didn't want her to thank him, because she must have known that this was just a logical step.

If it were up to him, they would spent the rest of their days in the woods, by their self.

But she needed human contact.

_And you're just a dog, remember?_

* * *

When they dismounted at the little inn, the first thing Sansa did was throw her arms around Sandors broad chest. She actually wanted to throw her arms around his shoulders, maybe even kiss him on the check, that's how happy she was, but he was too tall for her.

He didn't hug her back, but she expected that. At least he didn't stop her.

By the time she let go of him, an old lady had come round the little wooden building. She was hunched, grey, wrinkled and ugly, but she had a kind smile on her face that made her glow.

'Hello?'

Even her voice sounded wrinkled, but sweet.

Sansa walked closer to the lady, but Sandor held her back and went to her himself.

'Good afternoon madam. My niece and I have travelled for a long time. Is it possible for us to rent one of your rooms?'

The woman looked at Sandor, but Sansa saw that her eyes were a milky white. She was blind. Which was probably the reason Sandor didn't scare her in the slightest.

'Of course, dear, of course, come in! You are in luck, there's just one room left at the moment. Please, come in, come in, dear. My grandson will take care of your horse.'

'Actually madam, my horse has some of a temper, so I'll do that myself. But my niece would very much like to take a bath, I think. Could you show her to our room?'

Sansa walked forward and carefully put her hand on the old woman's arm.

'Good afternoon madam.'

The old woman turned her blind eyes on her, and smiled a toothless grin. Sansa smiled back, even though she knew the old woman couldn't see it.

'Now, come on darling, I'll show you to your room. You must be tired.'

The woman told Sandor that the stables were at the back, and guided Sansa slowly into the inn. The dining room was small, but cosy, and there were a couple of men eating at the tables. Most of them looked up as she walked in, clear interest in their eyes. When they arrived at the correct room, the woman told her she would sent up her grandson with water for a bath. Sansa thanked her, and fell down onto the big bed as soon as she closed the door behind her.

It was soft, and huge. Sansa idly wondered how Sandor was going to act tonight. It was obvious they had to share a bed. Somehow, that idea didn't bother at all.

After a couple of minutes there was a firm knock on the door. Sansa stood to open it, and saw a tall young man carrying her bathtub, steaming water included. She stepped back so he could set it in the room with a loud _thunk_. He turned, but didn't leave. He was very handsome, blond with blue eyes. But there was something about him that made Sansa feel very uncomfortable. The way he was looking her up and down sent shivers down her spine, like he was undressing her with his eyes.

When Sandor looked at her that way, it felt good, like she was in control. But with this guy, is was scary. Maybe because he didn't try to hide his animalistic admiration or maybe just because she knew Sandor so well.

'Thank you,' she said dismissively.

'You're welcome sugar,' he answered in a low voice, 'tell me if you need anything else.'

Luckily, he left it at that. As soon as Sansa closed the door behind him, she relaxed.

_Sandor would never let anything happen to you._

* * *

Sandor led Stranger to the stables, and relieved him of the saddle and their baggage. He started brushing the giant horse down with rough but careful strokes. When he was almost finished, he felt like someone was watching him. Stranger felt it too, he snorted and whipped his tail.

Sandor turned around to see a blonde boy watching him. He looked rather muscular for his age, but it was nothing compared to Sandor himself. However, Sandor remained wary. There was something off about the boy.

'So you're her _uncle_, right?' he sneered.

_Sansa! What has he done to her?_

'Yes, I am,' he grunted 'So you'd better stay the fuck away from her.'

The boy just sniggered.

'To be honest, I don't see the family resemblance. She's a hot piece of ass, and you're as ugly as can be.'

Sandor growled softly.

'And apparently not capable of human interaction. You see, humans need words.'

He stepped closer, but stayed carefully away from Stranger. His eyes were fixed on the scarred half of Sandor's face.

'You're not really family, are you? She's just some beautiful girl you kidnapped? You're the monster that haunts her in her dreams, and then she wakes up to see the reality is just as bad.'

Hate cursed through Sandor's veins. But what was worse, he realised that the boy was speaking the truth. He _was_ a monster, and he _had_ kidnapped her. He wasn't sure if he appeared in her dreams, but he was sure she hated every day she spent with him. He was disgusted with himself. But there was also something that told him that if he had been young and handsome like this guy, Sansa might have actually liked him.

He stepped closer to the boy, towering over him. He hated him, not only because he was showing him the painful truth, but also because of his handsome features that didn't scare away everyone within two seconds. The boy opened his mouth again, but before he could produce any sound whatsoever, Sandor gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him up close. Their noses were almost touching and the boys expression went from smug to terrified in less than a second.

'Stay _away_ from her, or I will _rip_ off your balls and shove them só far up your ass, you'll taste them for days.'

* * *

Sansa lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The bed was incredibly soft and comfortable after the past two weeks, but she still couldn't sleep.

_All because he _has_ to be so goddamn stubborn._

Sandor had insisted she'd take the bed for herself. He was lying on one of the bedrolls on the ground beside her. Not because the bed was too small or anything (_it was frickin' huge_), but because he had somehow gotten into his head that he wanted to give her as much space as possible. Or that's what he had grunted at her anyway.

With the result that she now not only felt incredibly guilty that he was paying to sleep on the floor, she was also freezing. In the woods, Sandor had always been close enough to keep her warm. Right now, with him giving her "space", she was colder than she had been on some nights at Winterfell.

She rolled over until she was at the edge of the bed, looking at Sandor, who had his back turned her way. He was breathing evenly, so he was probably asleep.

He had been acting strange ever since they got here. He had seemed pale when he finally came back from brushing Stranger, and he had been more silent than usual. At dinner, everyone except the old blind lady had been stealing glances at our table. Most of them horrified and disgusted glances at Sandor, but also quite a few hungry glances at her.

She didn't really care about the men fantasising about her, she felt safe with Sandor near, but she did care about them hurting him. She could tell that he had been pretending not to notice, but the stares hurt him. He wasn't some animal in a cage.

A shiver ran down Sansa's spine. It just kept getting colder. She couldn't take it anymore. As silently as she could, she slipped out of bed, into a bathrobe and out the door.

Her bare feet took her down to the dining room. Maybe somebody would still be up, somebody who could give her an extra blanket or a hot-water bottle.

The dining room was empty, but she could see light shining in the kitchen.

'Hello?' she called out softly, while walking closer to the door, 'anybody there?'

Once she reached it, she knocked softly and pushed the door open. The young man who had brought her her bathtub was sitting on the worktop, a nearly empty bottle in his hands. He looked at her with his eyelids half closed, as if trying to remember who she was.

'Oh, I- I'm sorry. Never mind, I'll go back to my room,' Sansa said while she started to turn.

Faster than she imagined he could in his drunken state, he was by her side, gripping her arm.

'Nooo, nnnooo, commonin Beauty! You have finally mmmanagedto slip away fromthe Beast, and noooow you want mmmy protection!'

He was speaking loudly, slurring his words heavily. His grip on her arm was strong though, and already it started to hurt.

'No, I was just cold, I- I don't need protection,' she resisted, 'please, let me go, let me go back upstairs!'

He wasn't listening at all.

'Buuuuuut, if you wannntmmy protectiooon, I want somethinggg in return.' He pulled her closer, and she could smell the alcohol on his breath.

She was really starting to panic now, but she couldn't break away from his hold on her, he was too strong. He dropped the bottle with a _crash_, and she could feel the glass shards and the last of the liquor raining down of her bare feet. With his free hand he grabbed her chin. She tried to jerk away, but in the end he got her to look straight at him.

'I wannnta kiss,' he whispered.

* * *

Sandor woke with a start as he heard a _chrash_ of glass breaking somewhere downstairs. He immedeatly jumped up and grabbed his sword as he saw that Sansa was no longer in bed. Running down the stairs with four steps at a time, his mind was panicking.

_It's my fault if she gets hurt. I am supposed to protect her._

As he entered the dining room, he froze for a heartbeat as he looked through the open door into the kitchen.

The arrogant boy from the stables was groping Sansa, her bathrobe ripped open, mouths pressed together. For the shortest of moments, he thought he was looking at a couple, madly in love, about to have sex. That moment ended when Sansa jerked back her head, and spat something bloody on the floor. The boy screamed, and hit her hard in the face.

Sandor was on him before Sansa had fallen to the ground. He didn't even think about using his sword, he just punched the boy as hard as he could on the jaw. The boy fell to the ground, but before he realised what had happened, Sandor was sitting on top off him. He grabbed the boy's head on both sides with his huge hands, and smashed it hard onto the ground, once. The boy went limp immediately.

Sansa was looking at him with huge eyes. Glass was everywhere on the floor, and she had hurt herself falling into it. But what drew Sandor's attention most, was the smear of blood on her mouth. His eyes found the thing she had spat out. It was a piece of flesh.

He looked back at the unconscious boy beneath him, and saw that his lower lip was torn off.

_Wow._

* * *

Sansa just stared at Sandor. He had saved her. There was glass in her hands and knees where she had fallen onto the ground, and she could taste the boys blood on her own lips. As she saw the realisation dawn on Sandor's face about what she had done, she scrambled upright, sprinted a few paces further into the kitchen, and retched. Vomit sprinkled over her feet, which were now also bleeding because of the glass shards.

She heard Sandor stand up, walking towards her. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve, and turned to look at him.

She saw love and concern in his eyes, right before everything went black. The last thing she realised before she slipped into darkness, was that Sandor was holding her, stroking her hair.


End file.
